Sitting there, tied to a heavy metal chair, was a white male who looked to be in his mid to late twenties. His hair was light brown and cut short. The only piece of clothing he had on was a striped pair of boxers. He was a chubby man, with a round face, plump cheeks and chunky arms. He was sweating profusely, and though he didnt look hurt there was no doubt about the expression on his face pure fear. His eyes were wide open, and he was taking in quick gulps of air through the cloth gag in his mouth. Hunter could tell by the fast up-and-down movement of his belly that he was almost hyperventilating. The man was shivering and looking around himself like a confused and frightened mouse.
The entire image had a green tint to it, indicating that the camera was using night-vision mode and lenses. Whoever that man was, he was sitting in a dark room.
Is this for real? Garcia whispered to Hunter, covering his mouthpiece.
Hunter shrugged without taking his eyes off the screen.
As if on cue, the caller broke his silence. If you are wondering if this is live, Detective, let me show you.
The camera panned right to a nondescript brick wall where a regular, round wall clock was mounted. It read 2:57 p.m. Hunter and Garcia checked their watches 2:57 p.m. The camera then panned down and focused on the newspaper that had been placed at the foot of the wall, before zooming in on its front page and the date. It was a copy of this mornings LA Times.
Satisfied? The caller chuckled.
The camera refocused on the man inside the box. His nose had started running and tears were streaming down his face.
The container youre looking at is made of reinforced glass, strong enough to withstand a bullet, the caller explained in a chilling voice. The door has a very secure locking mechanism, with an airtight seal. It only opens from the outside. In short, the man you can see on your screen is trapped inside. Theres no way out of there.
The frightened man on the screen looked straight at the camera. Hunter quickly pressed the print screen
key on his keyboard, saving a snapshot of his entire desktop to the computers clipboard. He now had what he hoped would be an identifiable shot of the mans face.
Now, the reason why Im calling you, Detective, is because I need your help.
On the screen, the man started panting heavily. Fearful sweat covered his entire body. He was on the brink of a panic attack.
OK, lets take it easy, Hunter replied, being certain to keep his voice calm but authoritative. Tell me how I can help you?
Silence.
Hunter knew the caller was still on the line. Ill do everything I can to help you. Just tell me how.
Well . . . the caller responded. You can decide how hes going to die.
Four
Hunter and Garcia exchanged uneasy glances. Garcia immediately clicked off the call and quickly punched the internal code to be connected to Operations again.
Please tell me youve got a location for this creep, Garcia said as the phone was answered at the other end.
Not yet, Detective, the woman replied. We need another minute or so. Keep him talking.
He doesnt want to talk anymore.
Were getting there, but we need a little more time.
Shit! He shook his head at Hunter and signaled him to keep the caller talking. Let me know the second you get something. He disconnected and tapped back into Hunters call.
Fire or water, Detective? the caller said.
Hunter frowned. What?
Fire or water? the caller repeated in an amused tone. The pipes inside the glass enclosure you can see on your screen are capable of spitting out fire or filling the enclosure with water.
Hunters heart stuttered.
So pick, Detective Hunter. Would you like to watch him die by fire or water? Shall we drown him or burn him alive? It didnt sound like a joke.
Garcia shifted in his chair.
Wait a moment, Hunter said, trying to keep his voice steady. You dont have to do this.
I know I dont, but I want to. It should be fun, dont you think? The indifference in the callers voice was mesmerizing.
Cmon, cmon, Garcia urged between clenched teeth, staring at the line lights on his phone. Still nothing from Operations.
Choose, Detective, the caller ordered. I want you to decide how hes going to die.
Hunter kept silent.
I suggest you pick one, Detective, because I promise you that the alternative is much worse.
You know I cant make that decision . . .
CHOOSE, the caller shouted down the line.
OK, Hunters voice remained calm. I choose neither of the two.
Thats not an option.
Yes, it is. Lets talk about this for a minute.
The caller laughed angrily. Lets not. Talking time is over. Its decision time now, Detective. If you dont pick . . . I will. Either way, he dies.
A red light started flashing on Garcias phone. He quickly swapped calls. Tell me youve got him.
Weve got him, Detective. Excitement colored the womans voice. Hes in . . . She paused for a moment. What the hell?
What? Garcia pushed. Where is he?
What the hell is going on? Garcia heard the woman say, but he knew she wasnt talking to him. He heard some more undecipherable whispers coming from the other end of the line. Something was wrong.